The Nelson Brothers

Valentino’s POV

My 6:00 AM alarm starts blaring across the nightstand. I reach out and slam it off with a grunt before sitting up to stretch my back. Before swinging my legs out of bed, I lean over and gently press a kiss to Harper’s forehead. She barely stirs.

Harper and I have been together for three years now, married for one. We got married in Vegas—a move my parents deeply disapproved of. In fact, “disapproved” is putting it lightly; they haven’t spoken a single word to me in two years because of it. All because of my daughter, Cecilia. Their own grandchild.

I slip out of bed, get dressed in the quiet dark, and head out to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Right on cue, Cece’s soft crying echoes down the hall. I walk into her room to find her standing up in her crib, hands tightly gripping the wooden bars. She’s definitely outgrowing this crib, I think. We need a big girl bed soon.

“Morning, baby,” I coo, reaching down to scoop her up.

She snuggles right into the crook of my neck as I carry her into the living room. I set her on the couch with a quick kiss to her forehead, then head back to the kitchen to grab my coffee and her bowl of cereal—strictly dry, of course. If even a drop of milk touches that bowl, she’ll throw an absolute fit.

I head back, turn on cartoons, and sit beside her. For the next hour, it’s just the two of us taking in the quiet morning.

This is my everyday routine. I get up early because Harper works late night shifts, bartending at Lemon Lime Bar from 8:00 PM to 1:00 AM. Meanwhile, I work as a mechanic at Mark’s Auto from 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM. By the time our shifts, sleep schedules, and daily chores line up, we only really get three hours a day together.

It’s tough, but it’s life with a small child. And no matter how exhausting it gets, I wouldn’t trade Cecilia for the world.

Around 7:00 AM, I lead Cece into the bathroom and start running a warm bath. As I gently undress her and lift her into the tub, she splashes the water, giggling to herself the entire time. She absolutely loves bath time. I wash her hair, let her play with her bath toys for a bit, and brush my teeth and comb my hair while keeping a watchful eye on her.

Gathering a fluffy towel, I hold it open. “Time to get out, baby.”

A short laugh escapes me as she scrambles awkwardly out of the tub and tumbles straight into my arms. I wrap her up, dry her off, and slide her into a bright yellow sundress. I kiss her cheek, and she wiggles in my grip, looking toward the hallway.

“Wake Mummy?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Let’s go wake Mummy,” I nod, setting her down carefully.

She takes off running toward our bedroom, and I trail right behind her—Cece has a habit of tripping over her own feet when she gets too excited, and I’m always on high alert for a bruised knee.

She scrambles onto the mattress and plops right on top of Harper. “Wake Mummy!”

Harper lets out a sleepy groan, pulling the blanket over her face. “What if Mummy wants to sleep forever?”

Cece just giggles louder. “Wake Mummy!”

Huffing out a small laugh, Harper sits up and presses a kiss to Cece’s forehead. Then her eyes drift to me. She bites her bottom lip, and I smirk, leaning down to capture her lips with mine.

“Morning, beautiful,” I murmur against her lips.

“Morning, handsome,” she whispers back.

“Daddy!” Cece whines, tugging at my shirt sleeve.

I pull away from Harper and look down at our daughter’s exaggerated pout. “Kisses?” she demands.

I chuckle, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the nose. “Better?”

She nods solemnly. “Wyes.”

“She’s got an attitude,” I tell Harper, shaking my head. “Just like her mother.”

“Hey, don’t pin that on me,” Harper argues playfully, running a hand through her messy hair. “It’s the red hair. All redheads have a little attitude.”

I laugh and pull both of them into a tight hug. God, I love my little family.

“Screw!” I yell up to Tyrone from underneath the chassis.

A moment later, a thumb screw drops into my hand.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Tyrone continues, leaning against the tool rack, “this hot girl comes up to me and is straight up like, ‘Tyrone, you need to lay it on me!’ So, naturally, I did—”

I slide out from under the car on my creeper, wiping my greasy hands on a rag as I glare up at him. “Do I seriously need to hear the explicit details of your love life every Tuesday?”

“No one else around here listens to my stories,” Tyrone says, rolling his eyes. “Plus, you’re young like me.”

“I have two years on you, man.”

“Yeah, but everyone else in this garage is boring and married,” he gags dramatically.

I chuckle, rolling my shoulders. “I’m married.”

“Bro, getting married in Vegas on a whim doesn’t count as a real marriage,” Tyrone dismisses with a wave of his hand.

“It definitely counts on my tax returns,” I reply.

“Phone call for you, Nelson!” my boss, Quintin, barks from the front desk, not even looking up from his stack of invoices.

I roll off the creeper, stand up, and head over to the desk, wiping off the receiver before pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Valentino Nelson?” a woman’s calm, professional voice asks.

“Speaking,” I say.

“My name is Valerie with the Vancouver Police Department,” she says. “We currently have a Parker and a Xavier Nelson in custody. They listed you as their older brother?”

My heart drops into my stomach. “That’s right. Did they get into some kind of trouble?”

“No, the officers brought them in following a fatal car accident,” Valerie explains quietly. “Involving your parents.”

The air leaves my lungs all at once. “...They’re dead?” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry, yes,” Valerie says softly. “Because both Parker and Xavier are under eighteen, protocol dictates they be released into the custody of an adult immediate family member. That would be you.”

“Right,” I swallow hard, my mind racing in a hundred different directions. “I... I’ll be there right away.”

“We’ll be waiting for you.”

I hang up the phone, standing frozen for a second before turning to Quintin’s office door. “Boss... I have to go.”

Quintin glances up, his brow furrowed at my tone. “Everything alright?”

“Family emergency,” I answer concisely. “I’ll make up the hours later this week.”

“Don’t worry about the hours, Nelson,” Quintin says, his tone softening as he reads my face. “You already work weekends as it is. Just go.”

“Thanks.”

I practically sprint out to the lot, climb into my truck, and drive straight to the station.

When I walk through the front doors, I spot my brothers sitting on a wooden bench off to the side. They’ve changed drastically in the two years since I last saw them.

Parker, who used to be small and quiet, is noticeably taller now, his shoulders broader and filled out with muscle. Xavier, who used to wear nothing but team jerseys and athletic shorts, is slouched in a faded leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and a stark white shirt.

“Valentino,” Parker croaks, his voice cracking. He stumbles up off the bench and throws his arms around me, burying his face in my shoulder as deep sobs shake his frame. I wrap my arms around him, patting his back while staring over his head.

Xavier doesn’t even move. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t say a word.

I expected as much. We used to be inseparable before the fallout with our parents. He’s clearly holding onto a mountain of hurt and anger.

“If you three would follow me down to forensics,” an officer says, stepping out from behind the desk with an empathetic sigh. “We just need a formal identification.”

I nod silently, pulling Parker back gently before guiding him forward. Xavier finally stands up, trailing a few paces behind us without making eye contact.

The officer stops us outside a cold, metallic room. “I just need you to confirm their identities. Are you going to be okay?”

I give a tight nod, and my brothers do the same. We step inside, where an attendant steps up to two gurneys covered in white sheets. Slowly, she pulls the covers back just enough to reveal their faces.

There, pale and still under the harsh fluorescent lights, lie my parents. Two years of silence, cut short forever.

Parker breaks down completely, dropping his head as heavy sobs wrack his body. I reach over, gripping the back of his neck to keep him steady.

But when I look over at Xavier, my breath catches. He isn’t crying. He isn’t flinching. He’s just staring down at our parents with a look so cold, detached, and empty it chills me to the bone.

What the hell happened to my brother?